


Ross Kemp: On Choirs Saga, Part 2

by BolgMitchell808



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29047398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BolgMitchell808/pseuds/BolgMitchell808
Summary: TIFFANY!





	Ross Kemp: On Choirs Saga, Part 2

Ross waits with his eyes closed and braced like clenched fists. Only in his face, not on his hands. His hands were clenched also, for the sake of clarity. He braced for the moment he meets his maker; one gritty documentary too many, it seems. A deep melancholy washes over him as he laments the eventual abandonment of his good fortune. And then he realises: he’s been sitting there for a while now.... he hears a click sound. Several of them. He peeks one eye open to see Steve McDonald in a dress furiously pulling the trigger but not making the bloody thing fire.

In his trademark comical idiocy, Steve McDonald is only just about qualified to work as an actor on one British television soap show - and therefore has absolutely no idea how to fire a gun. He’s clicking the trigger and waving it around in true frustrated, slapstick Steve McDonald fashion; flailing the deadly weapon about as though it were a remote with spent batteries in it.

“... No, Steve,” McFadden chimes in.

“Who, me?” McDonald continues to struggle, looking more increasingly like a daft prick by the second.

“Yes you, you bellend! I wouldn’t be talkin’ to myself now would I?! Anyway, it’s the safety, the catch is on... no the safety! On the side! Stop pressing the trigger a min... NO THE OTHER SIDE!” Before anyone has any opportunity to throw any other suggestions or instructions into the mix, Steve McDonald begins firing the weapon indiscriminately in all directions in a blind panic. The recoil of each shot throwing the barrel of the gun into a fun and exciting new direction each time a round is released. The magazine clip is emptied and all the resulting accidental blasts miss the intended recipient entirely.

Ross chuckles for a moment as Steve McFadden has his head in his hands. He’s not been shot, he just can’t believe how much of a ludicrous buffoon Steve McDonald is - although it may be fair to say it would not surprise the British public. Barry, Roy, Gary and Minty have been shot, however. The others ran off. It turns out Steve McDonald was the one who sourced the bullet proof jackets for the choir, which were actually just regular vests with memory foam pillows stuffed down them - offering no protection whatsoever from bullets. Or anything else for that matter. Steve McFadden cries out at the needless loss of personnel before retuning his focus upon the situation at hand.

“You fackin’ pillock!” McFadden assumes command and punches Steve McDonald right on his silly chin, knocking him out clean. His hapless body falls to the ground all wobbly and ridiculously - with about as much grace as his acting skill. A profound contrast to the learned academic seriousness of the Charles Darwin statue frowning above him.

“Useless! I’ll finish the job!” McFadden raises his pistol up at Kemp.

“Don’t do it, Bruv!” McFadden’s furrowed brows stiffen as he stares down the barrel of his gun - expressing a deep, profound anger at Kemp, before he utters the words:

“I’m not really your bruv tho, am I?”

There is the tiniest moment of tension that is then ruined completely by a flash of light. But the light was not emitted from McFadden’s gun.

Out of nowhere, coming to Ross Kemp’s rescue are the Queens Park Power Rangers (disclaimer: yes, okay it’s not my idea, a 90’s UK comedy show had already conceptualised this pop culture merge for comedic effect. Yes, yes, I’m unoriginal. Sue me). In trademark costume the futuristic ninja’s acrobatically flail around the area, one after the other. Two of them backflip their way towards McFadden, the other three provide a defensive barrier around the prostrate Kemp.

“Crikey am I glad to see you slags!” Ross exclaims with unbounded delight. “I fort you were playing Celtic at the weekend?” They just tut and shake their heads at him, not even expending the energy to explain that he is talking about the incorrect league (which, coincidentally, also matches the writer’s lack of desire to further explain the comedic football connection to the Power Rangers. Lazy, I know. Again, sue me).

The two Queens Park Power Rangers dodge Steve McFadden’s laboured yet predictable attacks and subsequently beat him mercilessly to a pulp; a beating so savage and brutal, Kemp questions whether he’s still a goodie or not, for it was the sort of beating baddies usually dish out. Mathematical equations flash in front of his pursed and straining eyes, attempting to decipher yet again just what exactly is going on. Before he reaches his Einstein ‘eureka’ moment - which, let’s face it, was never going to arrive - the Rangers grab Kemp aggressively and cuff him. He looks over to his former on screen brother unconscious on the floor.

“It didn’t have to be like this, bruv,” he whispers with a single, solitary tear rolling down his cheek, and a river of snot pouring over his top lip, sobbing at the new level of peril he has now clearly escalated into. A good performance from him there, it must be said. Very emotional and very much reminiscent of his best acting, specifically during the time Grant found out Phil and Sharon were boffing behind his back. Only it wasn’t acting. For the first time in Ross Kemp’s furious little life, he was afraid. Afraid as the merciless and emotionless Queens Park Power Rangers escorted him away and into their custody.

To be continued....


End file.
